


takes one to know one

by Blownwish



Series: please please please let me get what I want this time [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, M/M, armchair shrink otabek, not so nice otabek, ost, otayuri - Freeform, past jjbek, suggested mental illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 10:12:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11333682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blownwish/pseuds/Blownwish
Summary: It didn't take a genius to figure out Yuri didn't pass over training Moscow’s world class rink for Almaty’s less than second tier equivalent. Otabek knows Plisetsky wants him, and he is more than willing - has been since he jumped on the chance to meet him in Barcelona - but he wants to wait in this limbo between friendship and something more. It's always better than the real thing and he wants to push back the moment when Yuri Plisetsky finally disappoints him.





	takes one to know one

Two dirty seflies and a _don't you wish you were here?_ are meant to make a guy want more. Otabek knows why he got jerkoff pics and he resents it. Jean Jacques is one manipulative cunt. He saw it when they were training together in Montreal. Oh, sure, he was all confidence - too much confidence - most of the time. And then he was a crying, needy mess for the rest of it. With JJ it was either, _Yeah, that's right, worship the King,_ or _I don’t deserve air_. Pretty soon his messages are going to drop from that manic high to usual, predictable low, and Otabek is already over it. Let JJ’s fiancé take care of that; it's what Isabella signed up for. Besides, he's got other things at hand.

“Why don't you just block him?”

Otabek ought to know better than handing his phone over to Yuri. He's going to end up with leopard patterned wallpaper and another Instagram account he will never use. But Yuri likes looking at his pictures and it's easier than uploading them somewhere.

Otabek stirs the saskatchewan sauce into the pan. He hopes the noodles aren't too soft. Yuri is pretty and smart and skilled as hell on the ice, but he's got the attention span of a gnat when it comes to mundane things, like housework and cooking. He would've let the water boil off completely if Otabek didn't nudge his ass aside and take over. Apparently the cellphone was the epicenter of everything and dinner was a peripheral afterthought. “No, I think it would be a bad idea. Sometimes he sends me video.”

“Video?” Yuri’s eyebrow goes up. Ever since he invited himself to Almaty for the summer, Otabek has learned the language of Plisetsky, which is not simply verbal, but also a series of unconscious facial expressions and body language - most of which seem to involve irritation. At least he seems like an open book. If you open the angry cover you will find more and more of the same. No, it's not charming, but Otabek has seen charming before and it's not all that admirable once charming wears off. Still, he's sure Yuri is not consistent. No one is. There's always a contradiction, always a _problem_.

Otabek nods. “Skate programs. Not porn. Porn’s for still shots, only. He can pose better for those.” Oh, good. The noodles aren't a lost cause. He tosses some chopped broccoli and mushrooms in the pan. Looks like take out is not on the agenda - finally.

Yuri is going through the JJ shots. Otabek filed them in a specific category he regularly erases every few months after he gets tired of jerking off to them. JJ usually poses in a locker room, stroking his dick, but sometimes it's a restroom stall or his stark white bedroom, back in Montreal. Once it was a bathhouse in Moscow. The proximity to Yuri is probably too close for Plisetsky’s comfort and Otabek is glad it's long-gone from his phone. “So, you and him, back when you were training together?”

“Nothing serious.” Well, a few years of perspective turned it into _one of those things_ , but a much younger Otabek would've disagreed. Those late nights in Jean’s wood paneled room, surrounded by hockey posters and the scent of Axe Anarchy, meant lots of dry humping, clumsy kissing, and eventual hand jobs that left Otabek feeling more than a little hungry for more when JJ finished off and went right to sleep on his twin mattress. Otabek would slink off into the guest bedroom hoping Mr or Mrs LeRoy, or worse - JJ’s little brother or sister - didn't hear his footsteps creaking like death over the hardwood floor in the hallway. Those nights seemed like everything to Otabek back then; the hitch in JJ’s breath, the world in his eyes as he stared into Otabek’s, whispering _keep going_ , and the tan, smooth wonderland that was JJ’s body shivering whenever Otabek touched him there. It seemed important, _real_ , something he could pin his expectations on better than landing a triple or getting step sequences right. But he knows better, now. The triples and the steps will always come through with enough effort, but Jean Jacques will always be as distant as he was the whenever they were outside of his room. “Just adolescent hormones.”

Otabek slid the noodles on two plates from the blue and white china set his mother bought as a housewarming for the apartment. She would be ‘dropping by,’ later, to ‘check up,’ on them. She isn't sure about the Russian boy who looks more like a girl, lounging around her baby boy half dressed in Chanel tshirts and CK boxer briefs. He doesn't blame her; she's suspected Otabek’s preference for years and has tried, very hard to ply him with _nice, Kazakh girls_ , who invariably want to know more about his sponsorships and bank account than him.

“I've got adolescent hormones.” Yuri makes slurping noodles look absolutely dirty and Otabek is pretty sure it's intentional. It didn't take a genius to figure out Yuri didn't pass over training Moscow’s world class rink for Almaty’s less than second tier equivalent. Otabek knows Plisetsky wants him, and he is more than willing - has been since he jumped on the chance to meet him in Barcelona - but he wants to wait in this limbo between friendship and something more. It's always better than the real thing and he wants to push back the moment when Yuri Plisetsky finally disappoints him.

Otabek takes back his phone. He's going to use the last round of pictures, tonight, after Yuri dozes off on two beers. “I keep him on mute.”

“Do you keep me on mute?”

Otabek forks a large mouthful and chews slowly. They should be sitting at the table like civilized people, not eating while they stand on blistered feet in a hot kitchen. He as another, then another, instead of sitting, instead of explaining, instead of acknowledging.

“I am, aren't I?”

Otabek wipes away the sauce with the back of his hand, and keeps it there. His mouth is still full. “No,” not yet. “You're not.” He almost was, when he told Otabek he intended to come. And stay. If he was anyone else, he would have. Otabek must enjoy being disillusioned.

“Does that mean I'm special?”

He finishes the plate and begins washing up. First the pan, scrubbing down until he cuts the grease with his sponge. Then his plate.

Yuri’s is next, but he doesn't give it to him. “Scoot.” He holds his hand out for the sponge. “I'll do mine.”

Otabek roots around in the refrigerator for some water. Neither drinks while they eat, Otabek isn't sure it's Yuri copying Otabek or coincidence. _It's better afterward,_ Yuri told him in that little cafe in Spain. Actually, he's not sure whether he can believe half the things this kid tells him, he seems too good to be true, too compatible, too perfect.

“I'm way better than he is.” Yuri is behind him, now. Close, now. Close enough for Otabek to be aware of the body heat radiating through those baby blue Calvins. Close enough to make him forget about water and make him want to turn around and taste the saskatchewan sauce on his lips. Otabek smiles. It feels good to let it linger, so he takes two bottles out and clears his throat so Yuri can step back and look flustered. Otabek rubs one against his neck, watching Yuri swallow as one drop of condensation drops down, under Otabek’s shirt and he _knows_ Yuri wants to lick it off.

“Here.” He hands it over. “Mother will be here soon.”

He nods. God, Otabek wants the pout on Yuri’s lips to taste as good as it looks. And maybe they will taste good? Maybe he will be good, maybe even better than JJ. But he will never be as good as he promises to be. “Yeah,” Yuri sighs. “I figured.”

Otabek watches him flop on the white leather sofa and huff that soft hair out of his eyes as he takes out his phone. It doesn't take a genius to figure out he's looking at JJ’s account, and Otabek isn't surprised when he happens to pass behind the sofa and confirm it as fact. And he's also not surprised to see the latest attention seeking post: JJ, head in hand in a hotel room, staring into the camera, with the whole world in his big blue eyes. _Miss my best friend_. Yeah, Otabek’s sure he does. And he’ll forget all about that feeling if Otabek actually responds. JJ likes playing on his see-saw, more.

“Wow, what a pathetic douche. Is this about you?”

Otabek snorts. “No.” It really isn't. It never was. “Doesn't matter.”

Yuri looks up and his smile is a smirk that says, _you're full of shit_. Otabek’s seen it when he face times with Nikiforov, and now it's aimed at him. Yuri shakes his head and starts scrolling again. “Think that's deep or something?”

“Just the truth.” He sits next to him, waiting for the moment his mother can break this conversation up with her sidelong glance and red nails tapping the polished concrete on his kitchen countertop.

Yuri keeps scrolling. “You think I'm going to be like him, one day, posting this shit over you.” He's smiling, like it's a challenge. “Don't hold your breath, Altin.” Otabek feels goosebumps when he laughs. It’s so… unexpected, like sunshine during a storm. “You'll never let me go, once you get a taste.” Oh, god that scares him. _Oh, god._

The doorbell rings. Otabek can't get up fast enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Come on down and say hey to me on tumblr @ [blownwish-blog](http://blownwish-blog.tumblr.com) :D


End file.
